TUP Wrestling Forum Homepage
Forum Home Forum Home > Wrestling > General Wrestling Chat And Stories > Puroresu Wrestling
  New Posts New Posts RSS Feed - The Heyman Hustle
  FAQ FAQ  Forum Search   Events   Register Register  Login Login

The Heyman Hustle

 Post Reply Post Reply
Author
Message
The Phylth View Drop Down
Hall of Famer
Hall of Famer
Avatar
2007 Hall Of Fame Member

Joined: 07/October/2005
Location: Super Stoke!
Status: Offline
Points: 3447
Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote The Phylth Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Topic: The Heyman Hustle
    Posted: 24/February/2008 at 22:24
 
 
 

TODAY The Sun proudly launches its latest groundbreaking video concept – The Heyman Hustle.

Created by professional wrestling visionary Paul Heyman and Hi Def pioneer Mitchell Stuart, the Hustle is Paul’s first project since his dramatic departure from the WWE over a year ago.

Speaking to us this morning, a very excited Heyman raved: “This is the story of a mad scramble to make a deadline when everything goes wrong before the very episode is shot.

“It shows some larger than life personalities, but also the genuine human beings behind those personas.

“I'm really proud of it.”

The Heyman Hustle debut features past and present members of smash hit American show Survivor, including the now-infamous lesbian kiss between Playboy Playmate Ami Cusack and Flicka Flame, along with some special surprises that caught even us totally off-guard.

And quoting famed New York Yankee Yogi Berra, Heyman added: “Just remember. It ain't over... 'til it's over!”

The sensational new Heyman Hustle is available ONLY on The Sun.

OF ALL the issues covered in the two-part interview Simon Rothstein conducted with me leading into the debut of our new Heyman Hustle programme, the only one I told him up-front I was uncomfortable talking about was Chris Benoit.

Like many others, I spent a good part of last summer wondering what happened, speculating on the events that lead to the horrible tragedy on that awful weekend in June.

But also like everyone else, I have no answers. My theories are exactly that. Just theories. The only people who can accurately tell us what happened, what caused the chain of events that lead to three people's lives being extinguished, are all gone.

So, how does anyone tackle the subject of what happened? How does someone who knew Chris, Nancy, and Daniel convey his or her thoughts on this horrific murder suicide that touched all of our lives? Where do you start if you're trying to understand it all?

See, that's just the point. I don't understand it. I can't grasp it and I've given up trying.

It's obvious from what we know about Chris' diary and his concussions and his brain damage and his drug use that he descended into madness.

And before that, one would have to assume that unbeknownst to us all, he was a man prone to this level of - what word applies here - Evil? Horror? Darkness?

I live for my children. Wake up for them. BREATHE for them. Their very existence makes me love life more than ever before. They fulfil me.

And I had so many talks with Chris about that. The subject of our children was a breakthrough for us, because Chris was just never the type of guy I could socialise with, or talk on the phone with for a long time. We were on two different waves.

But we could talk about "personality" and "character" and "submissions" and "the art" for hours on end, and enjoy the conversation. But never about politics. Never about sports. Never about anything other than wrestling...

...and our children.

"Unconditional love," he'd tell me. Over and over again. It still resonates in my head as I write this blog.

Chris’ whole body language changed when we talked about our children. His voice got softer, his hands opened up and stayed open - he was always squeezing his hands or holding onto the straw in his mouth.

I'm babbling, because I still have no answers, and never will.

It's one of those things we're not supposed to understand, not supposed to be able to comprehend. Because we can't, even in our darkest moments, come remotely close to the very notion of harming our kids, let alone killing them.

Even writing that felt awkward.

It's like trying to wrap your mind around the emotions of a suicide bomber. You can't. You're not supposed to. You shouldn't WANT to be the type of person who understands.

Like in this case.

As I look back at all the media attention, I can submit to you it's a shame that missing in these stories is the tragic loss of three lives.

The professional wrestler, admired and respected by his peers, known in his chosen profession as one of the best in-ring performers the industry has ever known, who will now, much like OJ Simpson, never be remembered for his accomplishments, but only for the deaths his name will forever be attached to.

There's the young girl who got caught up in the wrestling business as a teenager, ended up leaving the business to become a full time mother, whose professional legacy and even worse, whose brutal murder has been eclipsed by the remembrances of what a "good guy" and a "great wrestler" and a "wonderful family man" and a "respected co-worker" her killer was.

And there's a seven-year-old boy, whose room was filled with posters and action figures of his revered father, who has been wrongfully labelled across the world as being a dwarf, or retarded, or a sufferer of Fragile-X, whose wrongly-reported disabilities have been speculated as the cause of the marital strife that many say drove the little boy's beloved father, the murderer, over the edge.

This is a story with no happy ending. It's a tragedy.

A terrible, horrific crime took place in Fayetteville, Georgia, at the home of Chris, Nancy and Daniel Benoit.

And while an entire industry reels in the wake of it, there are people in Edmonton and Florida grieving and trying to cope with the fact that not only have three loved ones perished, but also that no one can seemingly come up with a reason, even a bad reason, as to why.

Michael and Margaret Benoit lost a son, a daughter-in-law, and their grandson, and the family name will forever be tarnished by this heinous crime.

Paul and Maureen Toffoloni lost a daughter, a son-in-law, and their only grandson, and their other daughter Sandy lost her older sister and only nephew.

David and Megan Benoit lost their little half-brother and stepmom, and their father is dead.

I wish I could offer some perspective that would bring closure for people, or a theory that could allow us to even begin to come to grips with it all.

I don't have those words. I've been searching for a way to describe the anger, or the hurt, or the confusion we all feel trying to get past this enormous tragedy.

I've given up. It's just something, as my mother taught me many years ago, you have to live with, accept, and simply deal with for the rest of your life.

The only perspective I can offer is not a comforting one.

On that fateful weekend in June last year, in that house in Fayetville, Georgia, three people lost their lives. Two didn't have a choice



Edited by phyl woodvine - 24/February/2008 at 22:25
Back to Top
The Phylth View Drop Down
Hall of Famer
Hall of Famer
Avatar
2007 Hall Of Fame Member

Joined: 07/October/2005
Location: Super Stoke!
Status: Offline
Points: 3447
Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote The Phylth Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 05/March/2008 at 22:16

THE run home from high school took about 12 minutes.

The ninth grade junior high school student had just enough time to make the phone call, turn around, and run back in time for the first class of the afternoon.

Helluva way to spend your lunch period, huh?

But this was no ordinary phone call. You see, this soon-to-be 14-year-old with the deep voice and braces and pimples, which they couldn't see on the phone - was calling what was then known as Capital Wrestling, the parent company for World Wide Wrestling Federation.

The person being called was Vince McMahon.

Oh, not the current owner and Chairman of the Board of World Wrestling Entertainment. Back then, he wasn't "Vince." He was "Vince McMahon Junior."

The phone call was to his father, Vincent James McMahon. Legendary promoter, noted gentleman, and ruler of the wrestling world in the Northeast.

Breathless from his run, the kid picked up the phone, and dialed the number as quickly as his fingers would allow. As the phone was ringing, the kid practiced his speech. "My name is so-and-so, and I'm calling for Vince McMahon."

Over and over again, out loud, using a radio announcer's voice to mask the fact that if the phone call went more than just a few minutes, the kid's parents would be informed that their conniving little son had missed the beginning of Science class.

Right in the middle of one of the many practice "my name is...." introductions, there was a voice on the other end of the phone. "Hello ... may I help you?"

The kid lost his steadiness. His voice cracked as bad as when he recited from the Torah during his Bar-Mitzvah. For you non-Jews reading this, just imagine trying to sing in front of all your friends, family, and neighbors (and a congregation of strangers) right at the point in your life when puberty hits the hardest.

OK, back to our story.

"Yes, I'm looking for Vince McMahon," the kid shrieked. The nice lady who answered the phone said, "I'm sorry, he's not ..." when all of a sudden, the kid - realizing he just blew the entire opportunity - went into a staged sneezing fit and said, "I apologize, I'm getting over a terrible cold!"

Phew. That was a close one. "Hold on a moment, please." OK, here we go, thought the kid. "Yes, Mr. McMahon (there WAS a "Mr. McMahon before the current Czar of the industry), my name is....."

"Hi, may I ask the nature of this call?"

The kid cleared his throat. "Damn cold!" he exclaimed, "Yes, I was told by Mr. McMahon to reach out for him at this number to get a press pass for the upcoming show at Madison Square Garden."

Another "hold on a moment, please," and the kid now realises he's officially late for class. "It doesn't matter," he thought to himself, "this is going to happen. It has to happen!"

The call was forwarded. Ring. Ring. Every ring resonated in the kid's ear, because with every ring, the kid could imagine how much trouble he was going to be in.

"Mr. McMahon's office....."

OK, this is it. The moment the kid had waited for. Practiced this part to no end. "Yes, Mr. McMahon please, my name is...."

You ever notice that in the pivotal moments of your life, it's almost an out-of-body experience? You feel like you're watching yourself do something, even though the words are coming out of your own mouth, and the actions are not taking place anywhere else but within your own allotted space in the universe?

"Are you looking for Mr.McMahon Senior or Junior?"

It's working! Oh My God! "Senior, please. And if you don't mind, tell him it's ...."

That whole out-of-body experience sure is a bitch. Just going through the experience of living your dream, getting that one moment you've been hoping for .... praying for ..... thinking about ..... dreaming about .... for months on end, and you know that within another minute, all those plans will either come to fruition or die with a loud, annoying dial tone echoing in your head as you run back to the junior high school that is about to inform your parents "your son missed the first half of class and had no valid excuse."

"This is Vince McMahon, how may I help you?"

It was him. The owner of the company. The guy who makes all the decisions. The legend. The 2nd generation promoter who ruled over the likes of Bruno Sammartino, Superstar Billy Graham, Pedro Morales, Chief Jay Strongbow, and an ill-fitting-blazer wearing announcer with whom he shared his first and last name.

"Yes," the kid said, clearing his throat, "Damn cold ... Vince? It's Paul Heyman!"

The larger than life booker --that's known as "head writer" today-- paused and said, "WHO?"

Uh oh. Think fast. "Paul Heyman... we met after the last Garden show, and you told me to give you a call and get a photographer's pass. You liked my publication...."

The elder statesman interrupted the brash young caller, "I DID?"

"Yes, of course!" the kid shrieked, now realising that hanging up to make any portion of the class would throw his dreams out the window, "you told me to call you so I could get a pass photogra ....."

Vince McMahon --that's Senior, mind you-- stopped me dead in my tracks. "Oh, ok ... just got down to the Holland Hotel on 42nd Street and 8th Avenue, and ask for Gorilla Monsoon or Arnold Skaaland. 2nd Floor. Day of the show. Nice chatting with you, Paul. See you at the Garden!"

CLICK.

It worked! I was "IN!" Of course, when they realise the photographer with the deep voice was really a kid with pimples and braces, that's going to be a whole different sell job.

But for now, as my heart was beating rapidly not only because I was running full speed back to Edgemont Junior High School, but also because I couldn't believe I was going to get a photographer's pass, I knew I had accomplished something no other kid in my class would have dared to even attempt.

And as I look back on that afternoon that changed my life, I realise now exactly what really happened on that cold September midday.

I didn't just break into the professional wrestling business, I did something much more extraordinary.

I pulled off my first Hustle!



Edited by phyl woodvine - 05/March/2008 at 22:16
Back to Top
 Post Reply Post Reply
  Share Topic   

Forum Jump Forum Permissions View Drop Down

Forum Software by Web Wiz Forums® version 11.01
Copyright ©2001-2014 Web Wiz Ltd.

This page was generated in 0.047 seconds.